


Howl at the Wind

by DragonFire026



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst first then fluff, I should probably point out that this is not a ship fic, just a little bit though, just for credence really, just lonely children making friends, love the obscurials, obscurials
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-27 06:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16697104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonFire026/pseuds/DragonFire026
Summary: Aurora is young--far too young--when she learns just what her powers can do. Years later, she's living in fear of everyone around her--and they of her.Credence has lived for far too long, and just when he wonders if he'll be alone forever, he finds Aurora...





	1. Prologue: Sound and Smoke

 “Do you think you can hide her from me forever?”

“I can and I will.”

She sits up suddenly, startled, searching the room for the source of the whispers. Her room is empty. The hallway, however, is occupied by two pairs of shadowy feet.

“You can’t take her!” A hushed whisper turns shrill, frantic.

She rises, heart hammering in her chest, and clasps her blankets around her. “Mother?”

There’s a thud, then a sharp cry. The door opens. “Mother,” she whispers, backing up, eyes widening. “Who's there?”

"I'm your father, 'rora," says the man. He enters with his arms extended, but the look in his eyes is fearsome, all glinting steel and charcoal dark as the sky outside.

"My father?" Aurora steps backwards

“C’mere, Aurora,” he says, smiling at her. “Do you want to come see London?”

Her parents have been separated since before she was born, _he’s a bad man, bad, bad, bad, she shouldn’t go, shouldn’t_ -

“Aurora!” Her mother is there in an instant, springing lithely around her fathers’ hulking frame, clasping cold, trembling hands around Aurora’s arms. “I’ve called the police, they’re coming, they’re coming, you’re safe.”

“You did what?’ He roars, snatching Aurora’s mother backwards. “How could you? I’m trying to do right by Aurora!”

“You haven’t cared about our daughter in five years!”

“Stop!” Aurora shrieks, throwing her hands over her ears. “Please,” she whispers, shaking her head, “please stop fighting.”

Aurora’s father— _a bad man, a bad man, that’s what her mother always said_ —bends down, puts a gentle hand on Aurora’s shoulder. “I will never stop fighting for you,” he says, taking her into his arms.

But Aurora screams. The world turns hot and red and orange and gold, and everything is too much, there’s too much sight and sound, her mother is screaming too, and she—

Her father drops her and when she falls she pulls her knees up tight to her chest, she squeezes her eyes tightly against the sounds and the smoke.

Fire rages all around her. She loses her mother in the churning flames. Her head spins, the world growing darker by the second. 

The last sound she hears is her mother, screaming, and the sound of a slamming door. 

Everything goes black. 


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twelve years later...

Chapter One:

12 Years Later

_~_

_My mother never stopped mourning my father._

_Her wardrobe was all blacks and grays, which she matched together effortlessly; the result was a lovely sort of elegance, albeit a tad grim._

_She rose each day with the same smile painted over her face, but I always knew it was fake. The sadness in her eyes never really left._

_How do you get over someone if you don’t really know they’re dead?_

_She never stopped mourning._

_But you know what? I never saw her cry._

_Not once._

_Not until the day she died._

_Not until_ I _killed her._

_~_

“Name?”

“Aurora Holloway,”

“Holloway? As in, Doctor Eleanor Holloway?” The woman’s otherwise sour face brightens. “The lady who works at the city hospital?”

“That’s the one,” I nod, gripping my backpack strap tighter.

The woman smiles. “She delivered every one of my babies, she did—a good woman, and a great doctor.”

“Ah,” is all I can answer. My throat clamps over what I was _going_ to say- _“she was a good doctor, yes-”_ and my jaw tightens before I can say what I _want_ to add- _“A good woman? A good mother? No.”_

“I didn’t know she’d passed,” says the woman—her name tag reads: _Brooklyn Homeless Care, Lacy—_ with a soft sigh.

“Yeah.” I bite back a curse as my eyes begin to burn. “It was…sudden.”

“And your house gone too?” Lacy shakes her head. “Such a shame. Natural disasters really can happen to anyone…”

I sniffle, immediately regretting it as she abruptly looks up from her computer.

“Oh, dear…” she sighs, glancing up from her keyboard. “I’ve really done it, haven’t I? Here I go, talking so plainly when you’ve just lost your mother. My condolences, love.”

I clear my throat. “S’alright. Thank you, for letting me stay here.”

She smiles. It’s genuine, this time, a kind light shining in her hazel eyes. “You ever need a place to sleep, call this center—just ask for Lacy.”

“I will.” I smile back. It feels fake, made of plaster, as if it could break apart at any moment. “Thanks again.”

“You take care,” she calls as I turn, sighing, gaze flickering around the tiny room, across the bare white walls. There’s almost no life here—it’s empty, and there’s no noise except for the little television propped up in one corner of the room, national news blaring from its blurry screen.

_“More news from across the pond this evening as the London police department struggles to apprehend Elliot Holloway-”_

Midstep, I freeze, my shoe scuffing against smooth tile.

_“Holloway is the alleged perpetrator behind several thefts—including bank robberies across the city.”_

“No way,” I mutter, shoving sweaty fists into the pocket of my hoodie. “No _way.”_  

“Everything alright, dear?”

“Fine.” I cross my arms and glare up at the TV one more time before storming out of the lobby.

But it isn’t fine. Not at all.

How could it be, when that’s my _father_ they’re talking about up there on the screen?

~

The box in my car is small, shoved in the space behind the backseat and the driver’s seat, but sitting here, I can feel the weight of everything it holds.

Inside it is everything I managed to find, after it happened.

After I happened.

I reach around my seat, gently pull the box onto my lap, and look down. Immediately I see the stack of newspapers at the top, but I don’t need to read them to know what they say. Some of them are older, more faded than the rest.

**_Bizarre Explosion in Brooklyn—None Injured, Apartment Complex Destroyed._ **

**_Terrorists in New York? Explosion Goes Off In Park, No One Killed._ **

But this one, the newest—

**_House Goes Up In Flames, Woman Killed._ **

**—** hurts the most.

I don’t even remember what we were fighting _about_ that day, I just remember losing it—running outside but it being too late, _exploding—_ and I remember waking up in the backyard after it was all over, sirens wailing all around me, the air thick with fire and smoke.

I blink, shaking away the memory, and stare down at the box in my hands. There are other things in here too—a framed picture of me and Mother, the two halves to an ornament that was on my Christmas tree, and another array of newspaper clippings, Mother’s achievements, this time.

 _Come on, Aurora,_ I groan, squeezing the box close to my chest. _Stop stalling. You know what you need to do._

There’s nothing here for me anymore, and my plans—go attend a nice college, become a journalist—seem so _stupid_ now, so childish, lofty, pathetic.

With a harsh jerk, I crank the car and pull out of my parking space, ignoring the way the homeless center looms above me as I drive away. _I never want to come back here again._

And hopefully, I won’t have to.

~

“—your ticket will be available for you when you arrive at the airport,” says the man on the phone. “Safe travels.”

“Goodbye,” I hang up, turn with a smile to the woman behind me. “Thanks for letting me use your phone, Mrs. Carter.”

“You’re welcome, dear.” She smiles back. “I don’t blame you for wanting to get away—awful business, what happened to your mother.”

I hoist my backpack over my shoulder and move towards the door. “Yeah.”

My hands shake as I fumble with the car keys. _I’m actually—did I really just do that? I’m flying to London!”_

A cool breeze rustles past, tousling my hair so that it brushes past my eyes. I take a deep breath—a mistake. The smell of ash and charred wood still hangs heavily in the air. I choke, the scent sticking in my throat, and squeeze my keyring tight in my fist.

_My house was here a few days ago, and now it’s just a pile of debris and it’s my fault my fault my fault and no one knows, poor Mrs. Carter, does she know she just had a monster in her house? That her next-door neighbor is a freak?_

My stomach churns. I count the seconds, hold out each breath. Something cold and sharp jabs at my ribs, slow and rhythmic. I wait for the rush, for the dizziness, but it never comes. I stand with my feet on the ground, solid and whole.

**_SNAP!_ **

The sound and the smell of static makes me jump. I whirl around, eyes wide, my hands flying to my mouth. My keys fall to the pavement. “Where the hell did you just come from?”

“Oh, well, that’s rather hard to explain,” says the man, reddening slightly. “I’d tell you the truth—I apparated here—but you wouldn’t understand, seeing as how-”

“Hang on, you _what?_ ”

“Let’s just start over, shall we?” The man extends a hand as he walks forward. “My name is Elliot Holloway, Aurora, and I’m your father.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say here--hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Also--I apologize if this comes across as choppy...I'm still getting a feel for Aurora's character, but I wanted to get things rolling, so hopefully it comes across as smoother than it felt to write.


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